


Lava

by saisei



Category: Original Work
Genre: Collars, Glass Kink, Masturbation, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Other, RTFM, Sex Toys, Temperature Play, futuristic setting, malfunction, use as directed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 19:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Toh's been waiting his whole life for this experience:the primal glow of programmable molten glass flowing across skin, into orifices, malleable as putty one second and solid the next. It's the most beautiful sex toy he's ever seen, and the most alien.Surely nothing will go wrong...





	Lava

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this discussion https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/313513.html?thread=1791349417#cmt1791349417 of malleable, molten-but-not-really glass dildos.

The discreetly-shipped package is heavy for its size, and Toh goes hot and cold as he takes it from the delivery. He taps his wristband against its transaction panel and shuts the door before it has even wheeled away. He'd probably seem eager to another human, and he flinches from the thought. He's never found flesh-and-blood a turn on. The idea of being intimately exposed is repellent.

His pleasure is his alone, and he's taken a full shift off work to devote himself to this new erotic adventure. He unbands the box on the kitchen counter, and lays out the components of the device.

It's easy enough to assemble; he doesn't even need to open the instruction files. He's watched all the videos the company has published, which are clinical and pornographic: sterile white rooms, gleaming surgical instruments, and the primal glow of programmable molten glass flowing across skin, into orifices, malleable as putty one second and solid the next. It's the most beautiful sex toy he's ever seen, and the most alien. So perfect that he supposes he ought to be fearful, but instead he's hard under his tunic. In preparation, he's had his entire body depilated, and his bare skin is sensitive. He's preternaturally aware of his own body: the sway of his smooth balls, the bob of his erection, the brush of air across his bare scalp like a caress.

He wants to be _destroyed_.

He sets the round loaf of glass in the cradle to warm and strips, tunic tossed on the chair with his wristband on top, comms silenced. Directions are given through a collar that he snugs around his neck. He's impatient, but the cradle heats the glass so quickly he can observe it softening; when the chime rings, he gives the verbal initializing command, and the glass takes on a deep red-gold glow.

He reaches in with both hands, and lifts it out.

He'd worried that its warmth would be too much to bear, but it's delectable. The heat is soothing, washing away tensions, while at the same time his brain fears this thing that glows like metal in a kiln. Every human instinct says he should be screaming right now, his flesh baking down to the bone, and so he strokes it as he carries it over to the sleep-mat, whispering the commands to make it just that bit firmer, to send ripples through it as he lies back and sets it on his chest.

It spreads out, engulfing both nipples, which he tries to touch through the glass. The sensation is one of pressure and increased warmth, but with a command the glass tightens and contracts, and he cries out at the sudden inhuman force of it, nipples caught as if in a vice, and so _hot_. He breathes down panic and commands it back to softness. _Good to know_ , he tells himself.

The company warns all customers not to use the glass above the neck; the collar is their unsubtle reminder. He's seen specialist videos of people stopping their mouths and noses with the glass, trusting that their partner will release them before they suffocate. He's heard rumors of gruesome accidents involving the eyes and ears. A few deaths. 

He can't stop stroking the smooth, almost slick surface of the glass, watching the way it compresses under his fingers, the way it glows like a jewel. He can imagine being seduced into making the unwise decision to kiss it, suck on it, feel it slide down the throat. It's so beautiful, he wants its heat and beauty inside him with a thirst that has his cock dripping with eagerness.

He rolls over, placing the glass on the mat and kneeling over it so he can caress it with his cock and balls, the heat nearly unbearable as it molds around his length. It's better than a hand, pure and inhuman, an untrustworthy softness. He bites back a sobbing cry and refuses to let his body come; he's waited too long for this. He pants through the urge, and only moves again – carefully, cautiously – when the threat of orgasm has diminished. 

He has his case of supplies just to the side against the wall, and he takes out his lube and the ring that will hold his ass open wide. He's been practicing, moving up in the set from size S to the current XL. The ring's difficult to insert with his fingers lust-clumsy, but he makes himself take it slow, thrusting down from one burn to another as he eases it in and then unfolds it to full width. The sensation of it forcing him wide makes him clench down involuntarily – another primal instinct, as if violation was something to fear and not welcome. He gave the ring a light twist, tugging on the tabs at the side to make sure it was seated. Like this, he's held wide open, slick with lube. He could take a cock or four fingers or – or that delicious glowing heat, flowing into him like lava, touching him in the most intimate way possible.

He kneels up and commands it into a thick column, domed at the top, just slightly firmer than flesh, and sinks down. With the ring in place, he takes it too deep too fast, crying out and nearly jerking up and off. He feels like it's a weapon sheathed within, and his skin prickles with sweat and goosebumps as he shudders, hands in fists on his thighs, frozen. His throat hurts from breathing too hard; he's more cautious as he takes it deeper, gasping out commands to harden-soften-widen until he's so full he can't stay upright and he slides down, knees and shoulders on the mat and both hands on his ass.

Dignity means nothing when there's no partner to perform for; he's utterly free to be shameless, to push against the glass with his fingers and feel the implacable force of it as even more slides inside, until it's all inside. He wishes he had mirrors – next time he will, so he can watch, see the glow of a forge through the ring holding him open, the way his belly drags downward with the weight of the intrusion, like he's been impregnated by a demon. He's dripping with sweat now, his body taking on fever from inescapable heat, and he angles his hips higher, commanding it to flow and then – 

"Harder," he sobs into the mat. "Oh, fuck me, harder, do it harder, oh please, oh – "

and he comes so hard he can't breathe, ass convulsing, come splattering the mat, his thoughts pure radiant white with ecstasy. He's been cleansed of earthly, human impurities by the fire, and it's too much. His chest heaves as he weeps from overload, waves of cold and hot going through him. 

When he comes back to his senses, he's limp and dazed. He pushes up to sit back on his heels and cries out as the heavy mass of solid glass inside him forces his flesh to adjust around it as he shifts. It's too much to bear, and he gasps out the command for it to soften, to flow downward and out.

It does nothing.

He reaches up for the collar, checking that its still on, and gives the commands again. And still, there's no movement. He drags in a long slow breath and very slowly becomes aware that the ringing he'd thought was in his head is the soft chiming of the cradle alarm, warning him that the charge is about to run out, and he should return the glass to the cradle. He'd forgotten about that.

He tries to stand, but the weight inside him makes it impossible. He crawls instead over to the chair and uses it to push himself into a crouch, enough that he can open the instruction file disc and skip through to the warnings and cautions. He's got the dawning suspicion that he's screwed, that there's no way to recharge while the glass is lodged tight... inside.

He tries pushing, with his weary, battered inner muscles and with his hands against his abdomen, where he can _feel_ the bulge of the glass. Bearing down hurts, no matter how he shifts, and when he reaches around to feel inside his hole, to see if he can find any purchase to pull, the anal ring slips free.

He stares at it for a long moment, and then gives up. He'll deal with the human mess and fuss tomorrow; right now, he grabs his blanket and settles gingerly on the mat, turning until he finally finds a position comfortable enough to sleep in. He wraps up and places one hand over his stomach, rubbing the bulge, and slides into fiery dreams.


End file.
